


Keep My Heart Beating

by shadeblue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Threesome, Werewolf!Stiles, alpha!Scott, pack is love, professional Beta Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeblue/pseuds/shadeblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s all too much.</p><p>That’s all Stiles can think about the first two weeks he spends as a werewolf. Too much sound, too much smell, too much pounding instinct screaming at him to do things he isn’t really clear on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep My Heart Beating

                It’s all too much.

                That’s all Stiles can think about the first two weeks he spends as a werewolf. Too much sound, too much smell, too much pounding instinct screaming at him to do things he isn’t really clear on. He stays home from school for three days, and on the fourth he has to leave at lunch because he starts in on a panic attack. Scott smells it coming seconds before it happens, and hustles him out of chem before he can start doing the glowing eyes and claws and having a heart attack all over the place. He suddenly feels really bad about all the snide comments he made to Scott right after he got turned. This is freaking _bullshit._

                But.

                But, in the moments where Scott holds the back of his neck with one big hand and forces air into his lungs with the other, eyes burning gently red and calming, he thinks he can do it. Scott walks him to the door and puts him in Derek’s car, and Stiles is breathing again. Derek and Scott don’t talk, Scott just nods, red around the edges of his warm brown eyes, and Derek puts one hand on Stiles thigh and drives him home.  Stiles closes his eyes instead of watching _tree wind people car_ whiz by and focuses on the warmth of Derek’s hand. He isn’t sure how it’s possible for Derek’s hands to feel bigger than Scott’s, but they do. Derek is the wall for them to lean on. The only way he’s been getting through this is Derek’s strong shoulders and Scott’s soft words. They keep him from flying to pieces, hold him together.

                The smells of his house hit him like a warm blanket, tossed over his senses, stifling but somehow comforting. Derek moves his hand to put the car in park, and Stiles tries not to shake. He doesn’t make a sound, not one. Except he’s learning that when you’re a werewolf, it’s like you don’t even have to _make_ the sound. You just sort of think the sound and all the other werewolves hear it and freak the fuck out.

                Derek does that now, pressing one hand against his chest and frowning. Once, Stiles would have said it was quiet with the engine turned off. Now, he can hear the air moving the tree branches, cars rolling down the pavement three blocks away, his neighbors watching TV and fighting over the channel.

                “I can’t—” he tries to say, but his voice sounds so _loud._ Why is he screaming? Is he screaming?

                Derek moves smoothly right into his personal space—which doesn’t seem so personal anymore, more like his space is everyone’s space but especially _theirs_ —and presses his forehead against Stiles’. “Sssshh, breathe,” he says gently, almost inaudibly. Stiles tries. Derek does much the same as Scott, pressing on Stiles chest to make him exhale, petting his fingers over Stiles’ collarbone for the inhale. Stiles can feel his eyes burning, can see those extra shades of the world that means his eyes have gone from amber to a dying fire, can feel the sharpness of his fangs poking his bottom lip.

                It seems to take years for everything to slide back into place, but it does. Derek is right there for all of it. He walks Stiles inside after, and in the house it’s a little easier. Stiles knows everything here. It’s more like adding layers to his world, rather than slamming it with too much new information. Derek stays in his space, touching his shoulders, his waist, his wrist while they walk upstairs. Funny, how he never noticed all this contact before. It’s like the wolf lets something down in Derek, lets him connect to Stiles without fear.

                Stiles opens the door to his room and falls on the bed, trying to ignore how much it smells like some kind of den or something in here. It’s kind of nice in a way. It smells safe, warm. Like Scott and Derek and his dad, a little bit.

                Behind him, he feels Derek pulling off his sneakers. It takes an active effort to stay still, in the face of Derek’s random acts of kindness. Also his feet are ticklish. Derek drops his shoes on the ground and sits on the edge of the bed, resting his hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades.

                “I hate this,” Stiles mumbles into his pillow.

                “It gets easier. With the moon tomorrow, it’s to be expected. And—”  Derek stops, and Stiles can hear the swallowed breath in his lungs.

                Stiles props up his head and looks at Derek over his shoulder. “And?” Werewolf, no wolf, he was never one to let something hang.

                Derek sighs. Stiles is intimately familiar with Derek’s sighs, and this one means ‘it’s wolfy and weird and I don’t know how to explain.’ But that doesn’t really pass anymore, does it? Because now Stiles is wolfy and weird so that only leaves Derek with ‘hard to explain,’ which is a crap excuse at this point.  Their whole lives are hard to explain.

                “I wasn’t sure if this would be the case, but everyone takes to being a wolf differently,” Derek says.

                Stiles only doesn’t roll his eyes because he’s kind of tired, and Derek knows what it would look like. “And?”

                “Hypersensitivity. Some wolves only experience it near or during the moon, some never do. Aside from the general adjustment, like what Scott went through, you’re hypersensitive.”

                Stiles brows pull down over his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

                Derek does the eye roll for them both. “Not over-sensitive, idiot. Hypersensitive. Your senses are blown open, all the time. You feel, hear, taste, smell everything. You can’t close any of it out, so it becomes too much to process.”

                “Oh.” His brows relax. That sort of adds up. “Why? Why is it happening to me and no one else? Why not Scott?”

                “It’s hard to say.” Derek shrugs. “No one is the same.” He stops for a long moment, looking at the mess on Stiles floor, but not really seeing it. “Laura was more sensitive than me. It made her a good alpha, because she could feel things in the pack that I wasn’t aware of. But…it was hard, when she was younger. She had attacks, like you. Mom had to take her into the woods and help her learn to tune it all out, use it.”

                Stiles is pretty sure that’s the most Derek has ever, _ever_ , told him about his family. He hopes if he stays very still that Derek will keep talking. It makes something inside his chest tilt sideways to see Derek open like this, quiet and honest.

                “She did,” is how he finishes, and falls quiet again. After a moment, Derek starts petting the line of Stiles’ shoulder blade with one finger. “You can too.”

                “How?” He says it without thinking, which contrary to popular belief is not his modus operandi. He usually has about twelve thousand thoughts before he says anything. They don’t always contribute to what comes out of his mouth, but they’re there.

                “I don’t know,” Derek says, quietly. “I’m so—”

                They lift their heads at exactly the same time. Stiles feels his eyes flash, but Derek as always has perfect control. The sunshine-rich earthy smell of _Scott_ slides around Stiles wrists, his cheekbones, and his eyes fade back to their usual brightness.

                He turns to look at the edge of Derek’s jaw as he stands. “Were you about to apologize?”

                Derek doesn’t acknowledge the comment, just lets it roll off his leather jacket. “We should eat.”

                And yeah, food. Food pretty much sounds good all the time, amazingly even more so than when he was just a growing seventeen-year-old boy. It’s not so much that he’s hungry all the time—okay it kind of is—but that anytime someone mentions food or brings food into the room or makes food three houses down he is like, wow that is the best idea of all time.

                So he lets Derek distract him with food, and when they go downstairs and find Scott in the kitchen with bags of burgers. This might be the best day of Stiles life. Scott clearly became psychic when he True Alpha-ed and Stiles is so there for that. They don’t talk while they eat so much as touch. Every few seconds Derek or Scott makes a point of touching the back of his hand, his leg, his arm, his neck. After about ten minutes Stiles notices that actually only Scott touches the back of Stiles’ neck, and sometimes Derek’s, but much more quietly and outside the lines of Stiles’ vision. Derek doesn’t really seem to touch Scott back, but about every fourth small touch for Stiles seems to equal a small touch for Derek. He doesn’t really know exactly what they’re doing, but it evens him out, makes the lines of his being seem a little wider and not so full.

                The burgers disappear and Stiles feels a little less edgy. Scott herds him back up the stairs, Derek hard on his heels. Stiles is almost surprised, but not quite. He kind of thought Derek might bail once Scott got home, except that hasn’t really been their theme of late. More and more, it’s Derek-and-Scott-and-Stiles, instead of just Stiles-and-Scott. He likes it. It’s a good rhythm in his head.

                Stiles isn’t really tired, so he thinks about fighting it when Scott gently guides him to the bed. Except that when he lies down, he is actually _fried_ , because it turns out when you hear everything it makes it harder to sleep at night. He isn’t really hearing anything right now, nothing extra anyway, so yeah maybe sleep is good.

                “Put a movie on,” Stiles says. He’s not willing to just let himself be pushed around by Mr. In-Charge Alpha. It’s still Scott.

                Scott looks at Derek, who goes over to the tiny TV at the end of the bed and crouches down next to the movies. Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Wow. That was a neat trick. Remember when we had to threaten each other to get anything done?”

                Derek doesn’t look up from the movies, but he goes still. Completely, creepy, not-quite-natural still. It makes Stiles’ heartbeat kick up a few paces, since he’s only seen Derek that way right before something tried to bite, stab, or claw them to death. Scott settles on the bed and pulls Stiles against his chest.  Stiles doesn’t let himself think and just presses himself back into the solid warm weight of Scott. Scott smells so _good_.

                Finally, Derek opens the DVD player and puts in, to Stiles’ surprise, _Captain America._ He’d have figured Derek for more a Batman guy. But hey, he is never going to be the one to complain about watching Chris Evans do anything. Derek stands, and looks around the room like he’s trying to find a place to sit, or maybe leave.

                After a few awkward seconds of intro music and Derek standing in front of the TV, Scott gives a little huff and scoots over. The movement pulls Stiles firmly against Scott, but it also gives Derek enough room to lie down. Derek  stands a moment longer. There’s a weird moment where Stiles can feel Scott’s heart beating at his back, and hear Derek’s across the room. Stiles closes his eyes and lets the sound wash over him, warm and soothing. There’s something about the counterpoint, with these two. They make a balance.

                Or maybe he’s just tired.

                When Stiles opens his eyes, Derek is toeing off his shoes. The bed creaks a little under their combined weight.  Stiles surprises himself by opening his arms, letting Derek settle on him the way he’s leaning on Scott. It leaves him pleasantly squished between them. He still can’t quite get used to touching Derek all the time.

                Stiles focuses his attention on the weird CGI skinniness of Chris Evans and tries to ignore the sharp, full smell of Derek’s shampoo beneath his nose. It mostly works. Almost.

*

                He wakes up warm. So warm. Like insanely warm. It starts out as pleasant and rapidly gets too hot. When Stiles is a little more awake he realizes it’s because once they fell asleep, Derek turned and wrapped himself around Stiles’ waist. With Scott still at his back, and Derek heavy with sleep on top of him, it was like sleeping in a pile of heated blankets.  There was no easy way to move, with this much werewolf on him. Stiles blinked sleepily. Wait, he was a werewolf now. He had just as much werewolf-y strength as these guys now. Okay, maybe not as much as Professional Werewolf Derek and True Alpha Scott, but better than Frail Human Stiles.

                Stiles shifts and pushes a little at Derek’s arm. It’s heavy, even with his new powers. Derek and his freaking giant arms attached to his freaking perfect shoulders and—

                Derek shifts, lifting his head and looking directly into Stiles’ eyes. This close, Stiles can see exactly how many colors are in Derek’s eyes. They stay that way for a breath. Stiles can smell Derek all over him, taste him in his mouth.  He feels Derek’s breath on his cheek, gentle in a way his arm across Stiles’ chest isn’t quite, and then he blinks, and Derek is sitting up.

                Scott stirs behind him. It seems like the nap is over. Stiles sits up and runs one hand blearily over his eyes.

                “I can’t believe how hard I slept,” Stiles says.

                Scott laughs a little. “Yeah man, I passed out.”

                Derek smiles a little but doesn’t say anything. Stiles can’t ever really stop staring when Derek smiles. Even tiny smiles. It just makes his whole face look so radically different. Derek bends over and pulls on his boots.

                “You going home?” Stiles tries not to sound anything but casually curious.

                “I want to do one patrol before full dark,” Derek replies from over his laces.

                Stiles laughs. “Dude, no one says shit like that.” He hears Scott snort behind him.

                “Apparently some people do,” Derek says dryly.

                “You don’t have to,” Scott says. Stiles isn’t sure if he means doing a ‘patrol’ or leaving.

                Derek shrugs, and picks up his jacket from where he’d left it on Stiles’ chair earlier. “I do.”

                “Okay,” Scott says. Just like that, any residual tension goes out of Derek. Stiles wants to get on whatever frequency they share. It’s getting spooky.

                Scott doesn’t leave until his dad gets home, which is nice of him. Even then, he hears Scott telling his dad he’ll be back, or to call him if anything happens. Stiles briefly wishes he couldn’t always hear everything now. Like the tone in Scott’s voice when he says ‘anything.’ Anything, like….freak and attach someone. Or run away.

                It isn’t until after Scott is gone that he realizes he hasn’t had any werewolf-power freakouts since he got home with Derek. Everything has just felt…normal.

                Hah.

*

                The moon is far worse than he thought. He remembers Scott’s first moon, and how antsy and out of control he was. His second moon, when he kissed Lydia and then tried to kill Jackson over Allison. How angry and arrogant and fierce Scott was before he got control.

                It isn’t like that for Stiles.

                He doesn’t even try to go to school, because he wakes up and the whole world is screaming at him. It’s so much worse than it’s been the last few weeks, much worse than even the first few days. Stiles pulls the pillow over his head and tries to block it out, but he can’t. His whole world is just _sound smell sound smell sound smell_ , all the things around him bearing down and making everything hurt.

                He has no idea when he starts screaming.

                Stiles has a vague impression of his dad coming in— _gunpowder laundry age fear panic_ —and he tries to warn him. He can feel his eyes burning, his teeth long and sharp, the smell of blood in his nose, shredded sheets under his claws. To his credit, his dad doesn’t stay. The very small sane part of his mind is proud of his dad for doing exactly what Derek and Scott told him too. The sheriff activates the mountain ash they’d set up, just like in Scott’s house, except it only surrounds Stiles room.

                He can hear himself screaming this time, feel it turn into a howl in his throat. He feels horror, slick and cold, when his dad steps back and the smell of fear becomes almost pungent. Stiles truly hates himself in that moment. Almost more than when he was possessed, more than when they told his dad about his sickness and he saw some part of his dad die. They thought the bite could fix it. Fix everything.

                Stiles screams again, just human in his voice. His dad disappears down the stairs.

                Time comes and goes in pieces, so he has now idea how long it is before he feels Scott in the house. Something goes still in him, and he abruptly stops shredding his comforter. Derek comes in right behind him, and Stiles can hear them talking quietly to his dad. The words are impossible to hear over all the noise.

                Scott and Derek are almost silent on the stairs, their steps sound normal in comparison to his dad’s heavy tread. When they appear, Stiles turns his head into his pillow and whines. He doesn’t want to see the fear on his dad’s face anymore. It doesn’t smell like fear anymore, though. Just strength and wolf and alpha, with a lingering scent of his dad’s determination.  There’s a brief pause, and then the ring of mountain ash pops open, with a feeling very similar to the pressure change on a plane. His ears feel clearer, but that just lets more noise in.

                Derek says something soft to his dad, and the Sheriff sighs heavily. Stiles can feel his dad’s gaze on him, sad and solid. He whines again, softer. His dad turns to leave, clapping Scott roughly on the shoulder.

                “It’ll be okay, son.” And just like that, he’s gone.

                Scott steps into the room and takes up all the air. Stiles’ eyes go to him like a beacon and every part of him falls still. Derek follows him into the room and Stiles bares his teeth. Beta. Threat. Competition. Scott lifts a hand and Derek falls back a step. Stiles barely hears himself stop growling.

                “Hey, buddy,” Scott says softly.

                Stiles can hear him, all his sense tuned in to _Alpha_.

                “You’re going to be okay, dude. I promise.” Scott comes toward him slowly, hands raised slightly. “It sucks, I know. It really sucks, but we’re here now, we’re going to help you.”

                Stiles uncurls a little, watching Scott. Some of the noise calms down. His alpha is here. His alpha will help him. Make it right.

                Scott lowers his hands about a foot from the bed and turns a little. “Derek’s going to come in the room, okay? He has my permission and you need to let him in the room.”

                If he was all there, Stiles would make a crack about Derek and needing permission, but as it is he just bares his teeth and watches Derek enter the room.  Derek stands just inside the door and doesn’t make eye contact. Scott takes a breath, pairs it with a step, and all of Stiles’ attention snaps back to him.

                “Hey, Stiles, yeah, look at me, okay? Stay with me.” Scott takes another step. He’s standing right at the end of Stiles’ bed, knees brushing the messy comforter. Stiles snarls and tries to push himself close to the wall. The room feels too close, even with Scott there to push the air around. He can’t breathe.

                “Scott,” Derek says softly, voice laced with warning.

                Stiles is moving before Derek finishes the word, feral and terrified, claws and teeth intent on the other beta in the room. He’ll tear it apart. If he can’t make it stop, he’ll tear it apart. Tear everything apart. Starting with Derek. The older beta doesn’t even flinch. He just spreads his arms out a little to block the exit and braces to take the full weight of Stiles.

Stiles never gets that far.

There’s no visible motion from his alpha, no obvious action. Just a solid vice grip on the back of his neck, a total and complete stop to all his motion. Scott’s fingers tighten, unquestionable, and Stiles goes to his knees. Every level of input from his brain goes silent. All of his being is narrowed down to Scott’s grip, Scott’s undeniable, all-consuming presence. Scott’s _strength._

A distant part of him notices Derek’s eyes go wide. That same part, the one that values information above all else, notes that he’s never seen Derek look quite like this. It’s—he doesn’t know. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but kneel and wait for his alpha to tell him his place.

It’s finally _quiet._

 Scott’s grip loosens very slightly, enough for Stiles to turn his head a little. He can see Scott, the line of his arm and shoulder and the quiet power there, all the way up to his eyes. They’re on fire. Brighter than Stiles has ever seen them, even wolfed out. Scott’s eyes are glowing in the dimness of the room, lighting up every part of him that’s scared and confused and overwhelmed.

Whispers of the world crawl back inside his mind. Sound, smell, instinct again. Stiles whines, low. Scott’s fingers tighten again, but it doesn’t push it all the way down. There’s  a sudden burst of smell and motion and then all he can hear is Derek’s heartbeat. He turns to find the other beta kneeling in front of him, eyes bright blue but somehow comforting. Stiles tries to muster up a snarl but it’s not there anymore. His aggression is seeping out of him into the pads of Scott’s fingers, their touch familiar and strange. He knows Scott’s hands. These are the same and different. So much new strength and surety in these hands.

And then there’s Derek. It’s like he doesn’t know anything anymore. This Derek speaks in soft tones, using gentle nonsense words and making Stiles listen to him, only to him. This Derek lifts his hands slowly, so slowly, and puts them on the tops of Stiles’ thighs to ground him. They hold him together like this, above and below.

They stay that way for a long time, long enough for the light to change. Derek rubs gentle circles on his legs with his thumbs,  Scott echoing the motion on his neck. Stiles can feel his muscles unclenching, his world becoming calm. He relaxes enough to stand without panicking and they sit on the bed. Scott leans on the wall and pulls him close to his chest. Derek crosses his legs and sits in front of Stiles, murmuring the whole time. It’s good. Stiles doesn’t need to see Scott to know he’s there. Scott’s always there.

The stranger part is Derek. Stiles stretches his legs out because he needs the space. Needs to know he can move. It’s a little weird to see Derek boxed in by his legs. He could never think of Derek as looking small but he did. Small and relaxed and at ease. Derek put his hands gently back on Stiles knees. The size of his hands made him look bigger again, because they just covered up Stiles’ knees and kept them warm.  

Stiles turns his head into Scott’s neck and breathes in the scent of _alpha_. They stay that way until he dozes off, letting Scott’s scent keep him safe and sane.

Things get much worse when the sun goes down.

He wakes up thrashing against Scott’s arm around his waist. His whole body is burning and he wants to _run fight kill maim_. He wants _blood._

Derek is the closest target, now holding down his legs to keep him from thrashing. Stiles lunges forward, snapping at Derek’s face. He isn’t very strong, not comparatively, but he is fast. Faster than his friends are used to. Faster than he’s ever been. Derek jerks his head back too slowly and Stiles gets a tiny piece of his jaw. The cuts start bleeding immediately, drops getting on the remains of his sheets and jeans.

Stiles goes insane. One of his feet catches Derek in the ribs and he takes the opportunity to thrash his way free of Scott’s grip. His friends’ mistake is trying not to hurt him. He can feel them holding back, not using their full strength. Idiots. That was their weakness. He would not hold back. He would make them bleed.

Scott scrambles off the bed after him, almost as fast as Stiles. Speed would seem to be his werewolf gift. Stiles dodges Scott’s grabs and goes for Derek. He isn’t stupid enough to go for his alpha. But this beta, this threat, this he can rend and tear. Stiles doesn’t know how to finesse his claws yet but he knows how to cut, how to attack. His rage blocks out the practical knowledge that Derek has been a werewolf his entire life, not to mention some kind of supernatural gymnast.

Derek grabs both his wrists in one hand and tugs him smoothly to the side, throwing Stiles completely off balance.  He stumbles into his dresser. There’s a vague impression of things falling and wood breaking before Derek pulls him close and puts a hand around his throat. For a breath Stiles’ feet are off the ground and he can’t take in air.

“ _Derek._ ” The word is only a growl. A command.

Stiles’ is abruptly released. He hits the ground hard, gasping for air. Scott is right there, hand on the back of his neck. His alpha doesn’t hold him hard, lets him breathe, but he does hold him.

“Derek,” Scott says, softer. Just a person and not an alpha.

It gives Stiles’ all the time he needs to take a swipe at Scott’s legs. Scott makes a pained noise and falls next to him.

Derek goes beserk.

He reaches down and _tosses_ Stiles onto the bed, snarling. Derek is right up against him before Stiles can even process. He snaps and Derek’s hand is back on his throat, leaving bruises on bruises and forcing his head back. Derek’s weight is too much for him to squirm out from beneath. The only thing left is his claws, so Stiles rakes them down Derek’s arms, drawing blood. The older beta snarls and raises his other hand.

His alpha—their alpha—is there, hand on Derek’s neck and Stiles’ shoulder, pulling them apart. “Stop it!”

Stiles can feel the words in his bones. He goes still. So does Derek.

“Both of you _calm down._ ” There’s power in the words. Power that speaks to the full moon in his blood and the howling in his head. Power that helps it scream and be calm all at once.

Derek’s big blue-green-brown-every freaking color eyes get even bigger. “Oh god, Scott—”

“Shhh,” Scott says. Somehow, it isn’t patronizing. A few months ago it may have been. Instead it sounds soothing.

 

Stiles looks at the way Scott’s holding Derek still, holding him back, and something completely different shivers through him. He pushes against Scott’s hand, toward Derek. His alpha turns slightly and growls. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard Scott make in all his time as friend-of-a-werewolf. Casual. Powerful.

Derek’s mouth falls open a little. Suddenly, it’s all there. Stiles _knows_ it, just like he knows about the fight his neighbors are having down the street or that his dad and the new deputy snuck out for lunch. Just like he suddenly knows everything. Magic werewolf powers.

When he moves slowly, Scott lets him. Scott, Scottie, his best friend, who trusts him so much. Scott lets him sit up a little, but keeps one hand on his chest. It gives Stiles enough room to lean into his space until he can feel the unnatural heat coming off of both of them. The smell of _alpha pack Scott Derek_ quiets his head enough to let other things in.

All of his shiny new powers have just been noise, overwhelming and drowning him. The smell and feel of pack give it another dimension. Stiles can narrow it down, a little. He can feel the muscles in Scott’s fingers and up into his arm. The ink of his tattoo is like a live thing, cutting into the lines of Scott’s upper arm and making it obvious how much his shoulders have filled out in the last few years.  

Stiles wants a tattoo. He wants to put his mouth on Scott’s. See what the ink tastes like.

That makes him blink. Stiles realizes how close he is to Scott’s space, breathing him in. Scott is letting him, because Scott is Scott, and Scott couldn’t possibly have any idea that Stiles is having obscene thoughts about his arms and his scent and—

“Stiles?” Scott asks gently. Sometimes he wishes Scott wouldn’t treat him like glass. He wasn’t going to break. Not anymore.

That being said. “I’m—I’m okay.” His voice doesn’t sound quite right. Hoarse from screaming, maybe.  Yeah, that.

“Stiles, I’m—” Derek starts.

“It’s okay.” Stiles finds his head resting on Scott’s shoulder. From this angle he can see Derek’s knees. Nobody’s knees should look like that in jeans. Derek made jeans look like being naked. Derek—

Holy shit, what was _wrong_ with him?

 “It’s okay,” Stiles says again. It doesn’t sound very convincing.

The older beta leans back. Stiles keeps a whine in his throat at the slight fade in Derek’s heat. He wants them both _right there._ He also wants to bury his face in Scott’s neck to hide what he’s sure is a grade-a blush, but he’s worried about being in that close of proximity to Scott’s skin. Apparently his inner werewolf is in worse need of….well….than he is.

“I can’t believe how much control you have,” Derek says. He sounds…awed? It’s enough to make Stiles look up. Derek’s looking away, profile sharp against the paint of his bedroom walls. His eyes still look a little bright.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles says.

“I mean it,” Derek replies. “It’s only been a few hours, and you’re already in control. I’ve never seen that before from someone bitten.”

Stiles shrugs, feeling Scott’s shoulder muscles under his. “It’s not—it’s not really gone.”

“No,” Derek said. Without warning, he reaches out and lifts Stiles chin, leaning close and looking at his face. Stiles tries not to breathe too much. Derek was always touching him without warning. Totally the opposite of Scott. Derek was always pushing into his space, taking it over like it actually belonged to him.

Stiles rapidly tries to figure out a way to not make eye contact without seeming submissive. Not possible. He ends up absorbing all the details of Derek’s face all over again. The cheekbones, the jaw, the stupid rainbow eyes. Now it was all tied up in the way Derek _smelled_ —like woods and leather and musk. The way his heartbeat kept Stiles’ bones still. How much heat he gave off.

His eyes flash gold and he snaps his head away from Derek’s hand. Both the other werewolves move at once. Scott grips his hair and pulls his head back. Stiles sees blue eyes flash and feels for a second the touch of sharp teeth at his throat before Scott catches Derek by the throat and pushes him away.  

Stiles moans.

Both the other werewolves freeze. After a second, Derek’s head jerks back like he’s been burned. Lust, electric, snapped through the air. Stiles can’t tell who it’s coming from. Him. Derek. Scott.

“Stiles,” Scott says. His voice is low with shock, and something else Stiles didn’t know how to identify.

His cheeks are going to be permanently burned red. “Oh god—I’m so—I’m sorry, I just, I don’t know, I—”

Scott kisses him. Lightly, as his friend, not his alpha. “It’s okay.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open. “It…what?”

“It’s okay,” Scott says again.

A heavy hand drops on his chest. Stiles turns slightly to see Derek, eyes gleaming softly. “Whatever you need, Stiles.”

Stiles blinks and fresh air snaps through the room, moving his curtains. Moonlight floods the floor. Everything burns with it. It lights up his blood and brings everything slamming down on him again. He can feel his heart hammering out need, stark, sharp need. It shatters everything. Every second of clarity since Scott and Derek showed up disappears and his lungs stop working. Distantly he knows _panic attack_ but it’s so much bigger than that. Every single piece of him is in a different place. He can’t hold himself together.

And then there’s a hand in his hair and a hand on his wrists and a great, solid weight pressing against his chest and hips. The hand in his hair tightens, making his scalp burn, pulling his head back and exposing his neck.

They don’t break the skin, just barely, and if he were still human he’d have deep bruises for days. He still might. Scott’s teeth—he knows it’s Scott, knows it’s his Alpha, Derek would never _dare_ —cut off his airway briefly. Stiles goes still. Scott lets up slightly, but doesn’t release him.

Piece by piece, breath by breath, he comes back to himself. He becomes aware of Scott straddling his hips, of Derek’s jeans beneath his head. Derek holds him in place, tightening his grip in Stiles’ hair when he tries to turn his head. Stiles starts to relax, breathe evenly, but it was only seconds before his skin feels hot again and the world starts screaming.

Scott lifts his head and kisses him.

It takes his breath in a completely different way. Scott’s mouth is hot, with the fading touch of fangs, tongue pressing against Stiles’ lips in a way that tells him to _give._ Stiles opens his mouth and gives Scott everything. Scott tastes like power and comfort and everything that holds his skin together. His mouth feels good, amazingly good, stupidly good, and beyond everything else for a moment all he could think was ‘ _why the hell haven’t we done this before?’_

Derek’s hands tighten on him, more bruises on his wrists, but Derek releases his hair. Stiles can feel the tension in Derek’s body. He can taste the heat. More than anything, he can smell want, deep and burning, making the air thick around them.

He turns his hand in Derek’s grip and presses his fingers into Derek’s pulse. It’s all he can give, right now, all he can manage. The rest of him is Scott’s weight and solid presence, the hard lines of Scott’s body and the soft grooves of his mouth. Maybe Scott sees it, or senses it, or what the hell ever, but he reaches up and puts his hand over their wrists.

  Scott lifts his head. Stiles chokes on a whine, wanting his mouth back, wanting more. It turns into a gasp when Scott leans forward and kisses Derek. Derek doesn’t move. Stiles can feel his whole body go stiff, feel the tension like mountain ash holding Derek in place. It’s a strange angle. He can see their chins, their jaws, the way Scott leans forward into Derek. Stiles holds his breath. The grip on his wrists loosens. Stiles twists his wrists and reaches up, gently touching the underside of Derek’s jaw. He follows the line down until he’s touching the almost-familiar skin of Scott’s jaw, the skin soft after Derek’s sharp stubble. The sensations pulse through his fingertips.

“Wow…” Stiles says softly.

The word snaps something in Derek, and his whole body shudders. Stiles pulls his hand away and it’s like giving Derek permission. The hand that was in his hair wraps around the back of Scott’s neck and pulls Scott to him.

Scott is the Alpha now, but Derek has always been strong. Amazingly strong. Scary strong. He pulls Scott in and takes the kiss, doesn’t ask like Stiles, doesn’t beg. Stiles can see Derek press his tongue into Scott’s mouth, can feel the pressure of their bodies above him. He wants to touch them. Feel them both, their weight and heat. Smell them. Taste them.

Finally, three long breaths later, Scott takes back control.

 Derek shifts subtly back, giving. Scott pushes forward into him, putting one hand on the back of Derek’s neck. Stiles drops his hand and rests it against Derek’s stomach. The muscles are tense beneath his fingers. Maybe he’d get to have the ridiculous body werewolves seemed to inherit. The one beneath his fingers shifts, and Stiles takes the opportunity to slide his hand under the hem of Derek’s shirt, his whole body going hot at the feel of smooth skin over hard muscle.

His vision shifts, his eyes glowing gold in the darkness of his room. _Fuck it,_ he thinks, and runs his hand down over the waistband of Derek’s jeans and over his cock. Derek shudders and Scott _growls,_ low in his chest, and drops one big hand to cover Stiles’.  Stiles can see where Scott is keeping Derek in place, holding him still while they move their hands over him and damn.  This is good. Really good. Better than he’d ever thought, even in the fantasies that he’s never strictly admitted to having.

Suddenly, he very much doesn’t want to be below them, looking up. He’s always been looking up, waiting, standing outside, while the people with power and strength take action. He’s strong now. And he’s going to be stronger.

Stiles pushes himself up on an elbow. Scott breaks away from Derek and leans back to give him room, so Stiles can scoot up until his back is against Derek’s chest and Scott is sitting across his thighs. He flashes a small smile at Scott and gets the dopey puppy look back, so out of the moment that Stiles wants to laugh. The laugh falls away into a moan when Derek puts his mouth on Stiles’ neck. Stiles gasps and drops his head back, exposing his throat to Scott and letting Derek’s teeth scrap over the skin below his ear. Then Derek does this really cool thing where licks Stiles’ actual ear. It makes his back arch and his fangs appear just in time for Scott to press in close and set his teeth against Stiles’ neck again, not to dominate this time but just to taste.

Derek’s hands are on his waist, digging into his hipbones, and yeah, that’s definitely come up in those fantasies before. Stiles digs his hands into Scott’s shirt and it sets off a whole new wave of scent. Their smells are all tangling up together, lust and heat and pack making him harder than he’s ever been before.

“Please,” Stiles whines, arching his back and spreading his legs. And okay, maybe it’s a little more like porn than he ever meant to be, but this whole thing is like a porn out of his most secret wants and he does not care.

Apparently the porn thing isn’t hurting his case, because Derek makes a pained sound against his neck and goes for his fly. Scott takes the cue to go for his shirt and his hands feel amazing on Stiles’ skin. Stiles squirms, gives Scott enough room to pull his shirt all the way off and that’s good, so good, because he can feel Scott’s skin and mouth and his scent sinking into Stiles’ skin. Derek’s ripping at his fly and then his giant, hot hands are on Stiles’ cock, moving fast and hard, hard enough to hurt if he wasn’t newly turned. But he can take it.

He reaches back, wraps one fist in Derek’s hair and takes it.

Derek’s hand feels freaking amazing, just like doing this with another person always promised to be. Except he never thought that other person would be _Derek_ , or that Scott would be there with his mouth on Stiles’, pulling his jeans down further and wrapping his fingers around Derek’s. Stiles wants to taste Derek, to know what they’re both like, so he twists his head despite his body urging him to stay still.

 Derek’s face is so close, really close, like all the times Derek had pushed him up against a wall or leaned over him in concern but his expression is nothing Stiles has ever seen before. Derek’s pupils are huge, like he might be high on the scent of them, his mouth open slightly like he’s waiting for Scott’s mouth again. He’s never seen Derek _want_ like this.

And he definitely never thought it would be him.

Scott puts his other hand on the side of his neck, digging his nails in. Stiles gasps. In that moment Derek closes the inches between them, pushing his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and oh, wow. Derek’s mouth is somehow hotter than Scott’s, and more pushy, so much more intense, like everything about Derek. His stubble scrapes at Stiles’ skin. It feels so good. Doesn’t even hurt, just burns in the best kind of way, and he’s going to think about that later when he can think. Maybe in like two or three days.

Stiles never wants to give up Derek’s mouth, wants to keep it forever except maybe in the few minutes where he’s loaning it to Scott. That might make school weird. Scott does this little twist thing with his hand over Derek’s which snaps his mind right back. He can’t really manage to kiss anymore, can only pant against Derek’s mouth and moan. Derek’s moaning right back, like he can’t get enough of Stiles’, of either of them, like this is everything he ever wanted.

“Stiles,” Scott growls.

His head snaps around without asking permission. His Alpha gave an order. Stiles’ mouth falls open because there he is, his Alpha, his Scott, eyes burning red.

“Scott,” Stiles whines. Derek makes a little gasping sound against his neck.

“Come on,” Scott says.

And Stiles does, shuddering and fully wolfed out, the sound he makes somewhere between a scream and a howl. Derek bites down on his shoulder, bruising him, and Scott takes his lip in his mouth and sucks on it, and Stiles has officially gone insane. He thinks he might black out for a few seconds.

Whenever he comes to, he’s sprawled out between Derek’s legs and Scott is all the way on top of him, nose pressed firmly into Stiles’ neck. The wolf part of his brain is, stunningly, silent. Calm and content, basking in the feel of his pack.

His amazing, smoking hot, beautiful, probably horny as hell pack.

Stiles shifts a little, but his body is not really into that idea. “Guys, we can—”

“Shhh,” Derek says softly, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Later.”

“But—”

Scott nuzzles against his neck. “Later, Stiles. Rest.”

He can’t fight that hard against the combined force of two professional werewolves. That, and his completely fried brain can’t really process arguments. Between the moon and the out-of-nowhere stupid hot sex, he’s exhausted. So instead of fighting back, he makes a mental note to make this up to them, turns his head into the denim of Derek’s jeans and breathes.

Pack. Safe.

 Love.

  

**Author's Note:**

> I took this work down and reposted it because I couldn't figure out how to remove comments after I marked them as spam. Sorry for those who had it marked, but here it is again! Thanks :)


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